Hail Britannia
by Peaches the First
Summary: [movieverse] Unity through faith, as one boy tells us, is not always a bad idea.


Hail Britannia  
by Peaches the First

A/N: Cried when the little girl with glasses was shot. Bawled when V died. Got shivers watching the march on Parliament. Left the theatre thinking maybe sometimes being a part of the crowd wasn't such a bad thing. Written from the POV of the Middle Class Boy (that's how he was credited in the movie) who said "Mum, what's wrong with the telly?" Probably a oneshot. r/r! I love reviews! Even bad ones! lol!

Disclaimer: I couldn't even begin to tell you how hard I would laugh if you thought I owned anything pretaining to V for Vendetta! In short, me no own. Please no sue!

(V)

I marched that night of November the fifth, just one more face out of a million identical faces, toward the Parliament building, imagining what the guards must be thinking. I knew that a long time ago the fifth of November had been the celebration of the English capturing Guy Fawkes and hanging him for treason. A celebration of England prevailing as it always seemed to.

And it would prevail once more. Only not so much in the way the high officials would have bargained.

I was 13 when it happened. Typical middle class white boy. I liked football, and girls. I was just like every other boy my age, trying to be someone I wasn't really cut out to be. I wasn't a leader by a long shot, though it seemed like, among my mates, I was always the one they looked to for answers, ideas, and the likes. I dressed just the same as everyone else, had the same haircut, listened to the same music, thought the same way... I was nobody special. Just another face. Another mask. I had believed, to a certain extent, in the government up to that point. Though I knew of the midnight raids and Fingers, it was all I had ever known and, like a battered child, I always forgave them, believing it was for the good of England.

Someone had once told me, perhaps my mother, that I should be myself; be an individual, regardless of how much conformity offered. It was better to question, inquire, and be critical of the mass mind set to achieve your true identity than to sacrifice yourself to the wolves. It was said in hushed tones, for fear of being overheard, but it was said nonetheless.

As I got my first taste of true revolution, watching the vigilante known as V convey his message to all of England over the emergency channel, I felt, for the first time in my life, that I could make a difference, just as my parents had tried to in the early days, when there was still some trickle of resistance running through the blood of the English. They could remember a time before Sutler, when people could walk the streets at night, or sleep with "whoever they ruddy well wanted to" (as said by my uncle Leo), or be Muslim or black, or Jewish, or whatever, and not worry about when the government would come for them. Before being different was dangerous.

Standing among the million other V's in the crowd, watching Parliament burst into a trillion pieces in time to that wonderful orchestral score, Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (which had been blacklisted after the Old Bailey incident), I felt like I was a part of something that warranted a type of conformity. Something bigger than myself that would last longer than any of us standing there in the cold autumn air. It was a cause we rallied for. A message that had too long been stifled and now resounded over ever rooftop in the city. A purpose that drew us all together to take back the land and rights that were ours. Strength through unity; unity through faith. Indeed, we drew our strength through the unity V had provided us with. And that unity had been achieved through the faith we held that things could -and would- get better.

Though I would never meet the man, I knew that V had given the country a gift which could only be repaid with what use we put it too. If we simply went home after the display and resumed business as usual, we would be betraying him. No, if we were to make the most of what we had been given, we had to continue fighting for it. For the right to keep that gift, and that spirit which had been reawakened in us all. We had to pass this gift along to others in everything we did. If we did not fight, or pass along what we had learned, we would lose it.

A feeling of utter pride and exhilaration shot through me as the sky started to sparkle with the brilliant light of our revolution. The sensation was rippling through the crowd of black cloaks as one by one, we started removing our masks. Men, women, children, old folks, mothers, fathers...

We were all there, standing in the glittering light as witnesses to the historical event. We were Great Britain, standing together at last after a regime of fear and oppression had attempted to break our spirits. We were England, still standing strong after a thousand years of battle. We were London, sacrificing our safety to bring true fearlessness back into the hearts of our people.

And as I watched that old clock become no more than a million shards of memory, I whispered to myself, "Hail Britannia."


End file.
